Chapter 20 Eliza
Eliza
I wake up to the weight of Reed’s arm across my waist. For a moment, I’m disoriented—this is my bed, my room, but there’s a warm male body pressed against my back and the smell of hay clinging to both of us.
Then I remember. The storm, the barn, Reed’s hands all over me and the way he looked at me like I was something precious instead of damaged.
Reed shifts, his breath warm against my neck. “Morning,” he murmurs, voice thick with sleep.
“Morning.” I turn in his arms, staring at his disheveled hair and the stubble shadowing his jaw. In the daylight, last night feels almost surreal. “How’s your ankle?”
“Better.” He flexes his foot experimentally. “Sore, but I think I can put weight on it.”
“Good.” I study his face, looking for signs of regret or awkwardness, but all I see is the same warmth from last night. “So…”
“So.” He smiles, and it’s so real, so happy I almost don’t know what to do about it. This man is happy to wake up beside me.
We stare at each other for a moment, and I feel the familiar urge to bolt, to make some excuse about morning chores and disappear before things get complicated. But Reed brushes the hair from my face, and the gesture is so gentle I stay put.
“I want to keep doing this,” he says quietly. “Not just the sex stuff, though that was incredible. But this. Us. Whatever we’re building here.”
Relief floods through me at his directness. “Me too. But we have to be really clear about everything. I’m not used to this.”
“No games,” he says. “Just honesty.”
I trace a finger along his torso, remembering how I kissed him there last night. A bunch of times. I hum happily. “Then honestly… I need to go check on the animals.”
Reed nods, but when he tries to sit up, he winces. “Shit. I can’t tell if I messed up my body falling on the ice or hauling bales of hay with you.” He flexes and rotates his wrists. “No wonder you’re so buff.”
I huff but appreciate that he notices things I’m proud of about myself. Like my muscles. “Stay here,” I tell him, already pulling on clothes. “Rest your ankle. I’ll be quick.”
“Eliza—”
“You helped me yesterday when you could barely walk. Let me take care of you for once.”
He opens his mouth to argue, then seems to think better of it. “Fine, but if you’re not back in twenty minutes, I’m coming after you.”
“Deal.”
I pull on boots and my coat, then step outside into a world transformed by snow. Everything is white and pristine, the storm having dumped at least eight inches overnight. My truck is buried, but I can see tire tracks in the road where the plows have been through.
The animals are fine—their water bowls didn’t even freeze, probably thanks to the heat Reed and I generated in the barn last night. I smile, remembering how good everything felt with him, how he didn’t rush me, but I came fast and hard for him, anyway.
Chiron interrupts my daydream with an accusatory bray—apparently I’m late with the breakfast pellets—but the goats seem content with their warm barn and full hay nets.
“Sorry, guys,” I tell them as I distribute fresh water and morning grain. “I was… occupied.”
Ursula gives me a look that suggests she knows exactly what I was occupied with, which is ridiculous, because she’s a goat. But there’s definitely judgment in those yellow eyes.
I’m back at the house in fifteen minutes, stomping snow off my boots before heading upstairs. I can hear the shower running, which means Reed ignored my advice to rest.
“Stubborn ass,” I mutter, but I’m smiling.
I find him in my tiny bathroom, struggling to wash his hair while keeping weight off his injured ankle. Steam fogs the mirror, and through the clear shower curtain, I can see the lean lines of his body, the way water runs down his chest and over the flat plane of his stomach.
“Need help?” I ask.
Reed startles, nearly losing his balance. “I thought you were outside.”
“I was. Animals are fed and watered.” I pull off my clothes. “Scoot over.”
“Eliza, you don’t have to—”
“Reed, shut up and let me help you.”
He steps aside to make room as I climb into the small shower stall. The space is cramped with both of us in here, but I don’t mind being pressed against his warm, wet body.
“Turn around,” I tell him, reaching for the honey and goat milk soap I made with Eden. “Let me wash your back.”
He obeys, and I work the soap into a rich lather, massaging his shoulders while he leans against me. His skin is smoother than I expected, and I take my time, enjoying the intimacy of the simple act.
“This is nice,” he mumbles.
“Mmm.” I rinse the soap from him, then work on his lower back, kneading the tension and hopefully easing the soreness he mentioned.
When my soapy hands reach around to slide down his chest, Reed’s breathing changes. When they drift lower, to his stomach and then below, he groans and braces against the shower wall.
“Eliza…”
“What?” I wrap my hand around his rapidly hardening cock, stroking slowly. “Problem?”
“The opposite of a problem.” He groans as I tighten my grip, and I love how it feels to give him pleasure. This is all so new to me, enjoying myself with a man. I really like it. And that terrifies me, but it’s hard to dwell on that as I have him here with me, moaning in response to my movements.
I work him with the same attention to detail I gave his muscles, learning what pressure and rhythm make his breath catch, what movements have him pushing into my grip.
The soap provides a better glide than the udder ointment, and soon he’s panting my name and thrusting helplessly into my fist as I press my boobs into his back.
I want to see his face when he comes, so I slide around him and gasp at what I see. Reed is a man undone, neck muscles taut, eyes squeezed shut, mouth hanging open. I love knowing I brought him here, disheveled him, found what he likes.
When he comes, it’s with a broken cry that echoes off the bathroom tiles, his release mixing with the warm water on my wrist and washing down the drain.
“Jesus,” he gasps, folding me in his arms. “That was…”
“Thorough hygiene?”
“Fucking amazing hygiene.”
He kisses me hard and grateful, and I can taste the promise of more mornings like this in the press of his lips.
We finish showering without further incident, though Reed insists on returning the favor by washing my hair with the same careful attention I gave his, including a thorough rub down my center and a soaped-up clit that makes me scream.
By the time we exhaust the hot water, he’s moving much better on his ankle, and my legs are jelly.
“Roads should be clear enough,” he says, getting dressed in his clothes from yesterday. “I should head to work, let you get back to your routine.”
“Okay.” I try to keep the disappointment out of my voice. I know he has to leave, know we both have responsibilities, but part of me wants to keep him in this snow-globe version of my life where nothing exists except us and the animals.
“I want to see you again,” he adds quickly. “Soon. Maybe tonight? We could grab dinner, talk about the Yule Gala.”
“I’d like that.”
He kisses me goodbye at the front door, a soft, lingering press that makes me want to drag him upstairs. Instead, I watch from the window as he carefully navigates his way to his car, brushing snow off the windshield before climbing inside.
I’m still watching his taillights disappear down the road when my phone buzzes with a text message. Thinking it’s Reed, using voice text to send something cute, I pull my phone out immediately. But it’s not him.
The number isn’t in my contacts, though I recognize it immediately.
Hi sweetheart! It’s Mom. Hope this is still your number!
I have the most wonderful news to share with you girls.
I’m coming home for the holidays! I’ve found the perfect business opportunity for us to work on together.
I know how much you’ve always wanted to expand your little animal service, and I think I’ve found the solution.
Can’t wait to see my successful daughters!
We have so much to catch up on. Love and kisses, Mom
I read the message three times, my good mood evaporating more with each pass. The casual endearments, the fake enthusiasm, the assumption I’ve been waiting for her help with my “little animal service.”
Most telling of all: “my successful daughters.” Emma Storm only shows up when she thinks there’s something in it for her.
I remember last year she tried to wreck Eden’s beekeeping business and horn in on the beeswax products Eden’s been selling.
The last thing I need is my mother interfering with my goats, especially when I’m in precarious financial straits with MUNCH.
I sink onto my couch, already missing Reed sitting here with me, and stare at the text until the words blur together.
Just when everything was starting to feel possible—Reed, the therapy plan, the tentative hope that maybe I could trust someone—my mother decides to reappear with whatever scheme she’s cooked up this time.
Outside, the snow continues to fall, and for the first time since the storm started, I feel truly cold.